OTH03 He's my brother
by Miz Em
Summary: Don is tortured for information. Charlie's used as leverage.


Don moaned as he tried to roll over. The alarm was blaring insistently, adding to the miserable headache that he already had. He frowned when he discovered he couldn't roll over and opened his eyes.

The agent in him took over as he assessed the situation. It wasn't his alarm. It was a siren, set at a particularly annoying pitch, just loud enough to be painful, but not enough to be heard elsewhere. His eyes narrowed as he started to recall events from the night before. The headache was from a blow in the head, the last thing he remembered before passing out from it.

He was strung up. His wrists were encased in manacles hanging from the ceiling, just high enough so he barely touched the ground. He could see the chafing from the manacles, red lines that he knew would bleed if he didn't get his weight off them. Any thoughts he might have entertained about pulling his legs up were dashed by the fact that his ankles were manacled to the floor with his legs spread, just far enough apart to where he was on his big toes.

And he was nude. A drop of cold water landed on the back of his neck, and rolled slowly down his back. Then another. And yet another. Slowly picking up speed until it was just enough to spread out over his back, and chill him to the bone. He could feel some metal around the family jewels, and was almost afraid to find out what the contraption was capable of doing.

Grimly, he tried to remember why someone would want to torture him that way. Just then a door opened behind him. The siren was cut off. Ah, blissful silence. Don braced himself. He had a feeling he wasn't going to like what would happen next.

"Agent Don Eppes," A voice drawled behind him.

Don waited. No one came around to face him. So that's how it would be played.

"And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?" Don asked mildly.

"That's not important. What's important is that you have information I need."

"Most people just pick up the phone and call me," his tone was casual as he tried to stay calm.

A bark of laughter issued from the stranger. "That's very good. You'll need that sense of humor. I want to know where Barton is being hidden."

Don cursed. There must be a leak in the department. No one should even know that Barton had spilled his guts in exchange for a lighter sentence. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The stranger laughed again, it was almost a giggle this time. "You should muzzle your brother."

"What the hell does that mean?" Don demanded hotly.

"You know what it means. I'll be back in a few hours. Enjoy the music I've carefully selected for you." The door opened and shut, and the siren came back on.

His mind raced, trying to put together pieces that he didn't have. Did Charlie know about Barton? Don's heart sank when he realized that Charlie had been in the office when the call had come in. His jaw set grimly, wondering where his brother was. His team was at the safehouse, protecting Barton. He brightened, realizing that he was due there. They would be looking for him if he didn't show.

He struggled to recall the training he'd gone through at Quantico. Being tortured wasn't something that stateside agents thought much about, and the training was far too long ago. He took a deep breath and tried to center himself, perhaps get into a meditative trance. Drip. Drip. Drip. The water down his back was miserable. His wrists were now bleeding. All his muscles were on fire. Grimly, he took another deep breath. The pounding in his head intensified with every pulse of the siren. Each second passed more slowly than the last. Pain was all around him.

He jerked as the siren was cut off again, realizing that he must have passed out from the pain.

"So what do you say? Just tell me what I need to know, and you'll be on your way."

Don gasped out a laugh. "I'm supposed to believe that you'll let me walk away?"

A snicker. "Okay, you're not stupid. Lucky for you, I don't have time. Know what Russian roulette is?"

"You won't kill me. Not if you want something from me."

"Smart guy. I like smart guys. Look through that one-way mirror."

His blood ran cold. Charlie. They had Charlie.

The soft chuckle behind him made his skin crawl. "Oh, not your brother. Look at the room on the right."

A young girl. Trussed up. Eyes wide with fear. The condition of her clothes indicated that she was homeless. A man in a blue ski mask stood to her side. Don watched in horror as blue ski mask chambered a round, spun the cylinder and snapped it into the revolver. Putting it against her temple, he pulled the trigger. The girl screamed in terror, then sobbed in relief when the hammer clicked on an empty chamber.

"How long do you figure your brother will last if we do that to him?" the silky smooth question made his skin crawl.

Don cried out in pain as a baseball bat hit him in the ribs. He gasped desperately for air, the pain in his side almost sending him into oblivion.

"Not yet. You don't get any rest yet. It's your brother's turn, Eppes. How do you think your brother will handle Russian roulette?"

Fresh agony lanced through him as the metal contraption around his privates was brutally yanked.

He was barely able to keep his eyes open, and he was gasping with the pain. "No," he whispered, when he saw Charlie's eyes widen. Blue Ski Mask was in the room with him. Chambering a round. Charlie was saying something, pleading as he struggled to get out of his bonds. The revolver went to his head, and the hammer hit home yet again. Don moaned as Charlie's eyes rolled back. Blue Ski Mask waved his hand in front of his face. Charlie had voided with the fear.

Don saw the baseball bat descend again in the faint reflection on the one-way mirror. He screamed with the pain as it broke his ribs. The short gasps for air that he managed to make sent sharp stabs of pain in his torso.

"Oh, God, no. Leave Charlie alone." He moaned as Blue Ski Mask slapped Charlie back into consciousness, and chambered another round. Charlie was begging now. He's my brother, and I can't even protect him, Don thought sadly through the haze of agony.

Then he heard an explosion, followed by shouts of "FBI!" and he cried in relief.

"Easy, easy," Colby murmured as he tried to take some of the weight off Don's abused limbs.

"Broken... ribs..." he managed to get out.

"I got it," Colby was gentle, as other agents worked to get the manacles off him.

"Jesus," someone muttered, as they got the metal contraption off him.

"Charlie," Don whispered.

"He's okay, Don," David replied, "He's okay. We'll have both of you at the hospital before too long."

Don sighed with relief. Charlie was okay. That's all that mattered. 


End file.
